Rewrite the Stars

“I was walking back when out of nowhere, Selina pushed me in there,” she says, flinging her arm toward the cargo trailer.

“Did you see her?” Eros asks.

Evan hesitates. “It was too dark to tell. But who else could it have been?”

Eros and I share a look. “Go get Lathan and Tres. I’ll meet you back at the bunkhouse.” He nods, already walking away, probably having the same idea. I look to Miles and Kat. “Find out whose trailer this is.”

Miles steps in front of Evan, his face full of regret. “I should’ve walked you back.”

Evan shakes her head. “It’s not like I was kidnapped.” She tries to laugh, but the sound is forced. “It’s just Selina being a bitch.”

“Still.”

“Come on.” I jerk my chin. I’m buzzing with adrenaline, almost disappointed that she thinks Selina’s the one who locked her in the trailer. Hurting females isn’t something I’m into, but clearly, verbal warnings aren’t doing any good. I reach down, lacing my fingers with hers. Evan looks up at me, her blonde hair glowing under the moonlight, her eyes softening at my touch.

I lead her back to the bunkhouse, fighting the urge to lecture her about being safe, but the truth is…she didn’t do anything wrong. She should be able to walk around freely without someone fuc

king with her.

“Where’s your phone?” I can’t help but ask.

“I left it charging. I didn’t think I’d need it.” She looks down at her dirty shoes. “Obviously, I was wrong,” she says with a bitter laugh.

“Keep it on you from now on.” I’m one to talk. I rarely use my phone. Rarely even look at it. Half the time, it’s sitting dead in a backpack somewhere on the trailer. But after tonight, that will be changing.

When we come up to the trailer, Eros, Lathan, and Tres are all standing there waiting, arms crossed over their chests. “You okay?” Tres asks.

“She’s fine,” Lathan answers for her. “She isn’t a porcelain doll.”

Evan gives him a small smile at the compliment, something like a truce passing between them. Until this second, I thought Lathan could’ve been the one to shove her in there in an attempt to scare her off again.

“Wait for me inside,” I say, earning a glare from Evan, but I suspect she’s too tired to argue, because she goes inside without a fight. As soon as the door snaps shut, I turn back to the guys.

“We need to talk.”

I STARTLE AWAKE AS I’M lifted from the couch into a warm, hard chest. I get a whiff of leather and tobacco and campfire, Sebastian’s signature scent. I try to calm my racing heart, sagging into him. After taking a shower and picking the splinters out of my hand, I crashed out on the couch—too tired to eavesdrop. Sebastian doesn’t say a word, just sets me down in his narrow bunk before sliding in behind me. He’s warm against my back, his arm banding around my waist. He holds me like he needs me. It’s such a stark contrast from his usual coldness, and I soak it up, reveling in the rare glimpses of the real him.

When we wake up, Sebastian doesn’t say a word about it.

And for the next couple of weeks, that’s how it goes. When the sun goes down, we’re together. I ask questions. Sometimes he answers; sometimes he doesn’t. He uses his fingers and his mouth to get me off—but never pushes for more, much to my disappointment—then holds me while we sleep.

When the sun rises again, we may as well be strangers. Each night I fall deeper, and each morning hurts more. I work the face-painting booth, hang out with Miles and Kat while Sebastian disappears during the day—don’t ask me where—before coming back to perform each night.

I spend more time with the rest of the Vixens, too, minus Selina. She’s been avoiding me. It’s a good thing, too, because I’m not in the mood to play nice anymore.

Jessup made me an offer again. One I almost couldn’t pass up. I could use the money for college, or at the very least, an apartment. The longer I’m on the road, the more I realize I can’t go home.

It’s been radio silence on my dad’s end. Sometimes at night, I lie in bed, wondering if he’s okay, or if he’s lying dead in a gas station bathroom somewhere. I question every single choice I’ve ever made. Did I give up on him too soon? Did I make it worse? Did leaving him take away his last shred of hope? How does someone get better if they have no hope or support? For the most part, writing him off is easy—until the memories creep in, reminding me that he’s still my dad underneath it all. And those moments? Those moments are crippling.

Mom has called me a grand total of two times. She’s been spending time with an old boyfriend, whom she swears she isn’t dating, and I think talking to me only reminds her of the mess she left behind. I get it. Resent it, but I get it.

“Can we do something tonight?” I ask Sebastian after he comes out of the shower in nothing but a towel. It shouldn’t be legal to be that attractive.

I shrug, like I haven’t been mentally planning it out. “Like, maybe a movie or something?”

He looks wary, and maybe even a little confused.

“You know…” I hedge. “Popcorn, candy, nachos?”